


sunshine riptide

by StereoStatic



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Addiction, Additional Tags to Be Added, Bandom - Freeform, Bits of fluff, Boys Being Boys, Drugs, Lots of Angst, Lyric References, M/M, Song references, Vandays, kinda trashy, possible history of fob, sorry about my mess oops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-09 07:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14711918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StereoStatic/pseuds/StereoStatic
Summary: everyone's a little messed up in the head, but they've got dreams and they're going to make it work.just an angsty van days fic





	1. manic

for as long as he could remember things had always been this way.

he would experience the euphoric highs of life, yelling as loud as his lungs would allow. jumping around a stage, feeling on top of the world, the music was part of him. his thoughts would quiet and his blood would thrum with life. his fingers would blister and bleed from being forced to tear at the bass in his hands, but he caught up in his own bliss that he didn't notice, didn't care about the marks being left behind on his skin.

he was addicted to the music, on those nights. it was better than anything, like shooting sunshine into his veins.

yes, people would notice his crazed attitude. he'd get questions, some positive, others not. but it didn't matter to him on those days, everything was just one beautiful disaster. the world was created just for his enjoyment, it was his to remake. everything belonged to him and he would squeeze all the color out of a single day just because he could.

he knew it wasn't healthy, this pulsating feeling of power that he felt in his bones, but it was so addicting. he needed this feeling, just as he needed air. without it he was just a fish, flopping on the deck frantically wishing for a single drop of water.

so he lived despite it and he lived because of it.

///

it was on one of these sunshiny days that everything came crashing down. 

the four boys, who had started tentatively calling themselves fall out boy, crammed into their shitty van after opening for a show at a tiny dive bar. sweaty and exhausted, but with smiles as big as their hopes for the future, they cranked up the radio and sped off. their show had gone amazingly, people were engaged, screaming back the words and thrumming with the same feeling that he felt in his veins.

so they were celebrating. with the money scraped up from in-between seat cushions and crumpled in pockets, they unanimously agreed that they deserved a night at a motel.

"pete, turn down the radio, it's giving me another headache," patrick half-heartedly griped from somewhere in the back of the vehicle.

"i will do no such thing," a cheshire-grinned pete stared back as his grumpy friend and waited for a reply.

"for fuck's sake pete, just give the poor kid a break, he's the whole reason this whole band thing is even working," joe snorted from beside pete, reaching to turn down the booming stereo.

"whatever you say, captain" pete retorted, voice dripping with sickly-sweet sarcasm as he aimed a two-figured salute towards the curly-haired man.

the boys continued with their lighthearted teasing and back-and-forth banter, eyes and moods dropping as the sun started to hit the horizon. joe swore that they were just about an hour away from the motel they'd stay at for the night, but by then andy and patrick were already asleep in the back. pete quietly spoke to joe, bouncing his leg and thrumming his fingers on his thighs to try to burn off the excess energy still flowing through his system.

"do you think we'll really make it?" pete wondered aloud, his brain-to-mouth filter not quite functioning at this time of night.

"i don't know, but if we don't at least we'll have these memories," an unusually profound statement slipping off joe's lips.

"yeah, yeah but i really think we could be something big. we have our golden ticket, our secret weapon," the shorter man gestured to a sleeping patrick curled in the backseat, "and we have something special, all four of us. i don't know how to explain it but i really think we're going to be something big. something that changes people and takes the world by storm. we're going to be a tempest in a teacup, we'll be remembered for years, centuries even." pete mused.

"you know, for once i think you might be right, pete."

the lull in the conversation was welcome. the quiet hum of the radio and the creaking of the ancient van were enough for pete to start to doze off. eyes closed, stuck between sleep and reality. the next few moments could have lasted minutes or hours, but he didn't mind.

for once pete's dream wasn't a typical nightmare or a forgettable plot line. his dream was of them. 

all three of his fellow bandmates were together on a stage, playing their hearts out. together they strung together music for hundreds, no thousands, of fans, all screaming and clapping and crying. it was euphoric, brilliant, everything pete never knew he needed.

his fingers plucked out melodies and effortlessly shifted between chords on his bass as he spun and moved across the stage. andy pounded on the drums like he was born only to do this one task perfectly. joe was crooning into a mic, as his fingers picked at his guitar.  
and patrick, his golden trick, was magic. his voice was enrapturing, it caught pete's attention and he couldn't help but step towards the golden notes spilling from between pink lips. 

pete's feet decided to move without conscious approval from pete himself, and soon enough he was right next to patrick. he couldn't resist the perfect boy, singing his words. so with little caution he stretched out his neck and nuzzled against patrick's neck.

a searing pain tore across pete's side and his back. the music stopped and all the illusions of fans and instruments disappeared. it was now just him and patrick, so very close but still in pain. he could bits of red, but for some reason, he only had one thought in his head. he looked at the perfect blond boy beside him, as he captured petal soft lips with his own.

with a gasp he opened his eyes. quickly realizing his dream wasn't far from reality, he tried to roll away from the struggling patrick beneath him. he quickly realized the impossibility of that when he discovered the sticky blood coating his side and his awkward positioning pressed up against the side of the van.

everything was hazy, the beautiful boy below him and the chaos around him. his mind struggled to process the images, but he slowly pieced together what had most likely happened. their van was on its side, they had gotten into an accident.

just as pete came to this realization, he began to feel the affects of sleep and adrenaline wear off, and started to feel the excruciating pain in this side and across his back. he reached over to his side, only to find it coated in a scarlet shade of red.

trying to ignore his own injuries he looked down at patrick who was hyperventilating, but otherwise seemed unharmed. he shushed the smaller boy and tried to voice that everything was going to be okay, but the words wouldn't make it out from between the his uncooperative lips. his head was stuffed with cotton and his mouth was a desert.

his vision started to swim, growing darker and darker. he could hear the distant shouts of andy and joe and the small whimpers coming from patrick, but they sounded underwater. he briefly smelt burning rubber and sweat, but it was soon overtaken by the overpowering stench of metallic blood.

that last thing pete remembered before the world went completely black, was plush lips pressed against his own.


	2. melancholy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pete is more fucked up than patrick realizes

for as long as he could remember there was always a darker side to him, a counterpart to his mania.

it would sweep over him, planting thoughts in his head, taking over his mind. things would go duller and darker, nothing seemed quite right. those were the days, the nights where he couldn't quite bring himself to spin around with his bass in hands or to jump into the crowd. he wasn't fully himself, it was as if something else had taken over his head.

he would shoot venomous comments at his friends, by now they understood it was only the poison in his head. his words would become darker, twisted versions of the metaphors he normally wrote appeared on napkins, arms, and anywhere pens could reach.

these were times he seemed most and least like himself. he was the asshole, he was more than they wanted, more than they bargained for. he always thought he'd be given up on by now, because what did people expect. 

he just wanted everyone to go away, he wanted to drop dead. he wanted to see what his skin was made up, what was underneath honeyed flesh. would it be scarlet red or gleaming white? he wanted to find out.

he hated his sadness, his prolonged anger, as much as the next guy. but there was still a part of him that loved it. part of him lived in the feeling of dying.

so he lived despite of and because of his dark thoughts and grey days.

///

depression and deprecation swirled around in pete's brain as he jerked awake.

at first all he saw was white, blinding and harsh. he could smell the sterile cleanliness of a hospital and he gasped in the stale air of the room. he flinched and shut his eyes, slowly trying to get them to adjust to what he assumed was the bright white of a hospital.

wait, he was in a hospital, oh god what had happened. his mind raced and all he could conjure were broken images of a chaotic van and the feeling of plush lips against his own. that didn't make sense. he started breathing faster, to match the absolute mess in his mind, but then he heard a soothing voice through his panic.

"hey, pete it's okay, it's okay, calm down," he heard someone whisper.

he slowly forced his eyes open and turned toward the voice. he met blue-green eyes ringed with amber and finally took a relaxed breath. he turned his head and found two other sets of eyes, both blue and familiar. 

he cleared his throat, trying to form words for his bandmates.

"he-hey, uh, wha-what happened?" he managed to stutter out his question with a small cough.

"so you guys were all passed out and it started raining, the van couldn't quite handle it, and well, it flipped," joe sheepishly replied.

"oh," the small sound escaped pete's lips.

he turned to the the concerned, golden boy beside him and repeated his inquiry.

"'trick, what happened?" his voice was soft, with an undertone that was reminiscent of stolen kisses in the mist of crashed vans, and eyes were pleading.

patrick's eyes shone with tears, and his voice was full of an unrecognizable emotion, "um i don't know, we'll figure it out later, but for now," he sniffled, "i'm just so glad you're awake, they-they told us you might not wake up."

andy nodded, "patrick's right, you really scared us dude."

"oh," pete repeated in an even smaller voice. he suddenly realized his body was wrapped with bandages - and also how much everything hurt. it was as if someone had lit his bones on fire and his skin was blistering. he had a twisted moment of gratitude. he knew that he didn't deserve the band, he didn't deserve to be friends with such amazing people, especially patrick. this was life's payback, an eye for an eye. this was for all of his past wrong doings, everything he touched really got ruined.

he was embarrassed to find there were tears making their way down his face. he tired to wipe them away and hide his face, but was pretty unsuccessful as he spotted pitiful looks from all three of his friends. he was such a fuck-up, all he would do is hold the band back. if he had just stayed awake they wouldn't have crashed in the first place. 

if he hadn't fallen asleep, he would of never touched patrick. he fucked it up. he tainted the golden boy, trick would certainly never want to be around him again, let alone be in a band with him.

pete's sobs increased in volume, much to his dismay. he didn't seem to be able to control the sounds he was making, he couldn't seem to control himself. everything was once again a blur and he didn't remember who he was with or where he was.

the a few minutes - or hours later, pete couldn't tell, he woke up with his head pressed again patrick's shoulder.

he stayed still for a second, still blissfully forgetful in his half-awake state of mind. but as always memories of the past days seeped back into his head causing him to jerk up and shove himself off patrick.

"where are we??" the dazed boy questioned for the second time in the past day.

"hey, hey pete it's okay, we're still in the hospital, but they said that you can leave in the next couple of hours, you only have a broken arm and you needed stitches on your back but it's nothing major..." the smaller boy trailed off, "hey pete, i know this is a stupid question, but are you okay?"

"i'm fine, just tired," he muttered unconvincingly, "where's joe and andy?"

"they went to get us a rental car and a room at the nearest motel, we've decided that we're cutting our tour short and headin back home once your up to it," patrick shot a concerned half-smile at the dark-haired boy.

pete frowned, his mind once again clouding with dark thoughts. he was the reason they were cutting the tour short. if he could've just protected them, he was the oldest anyway, wasn't that his job. he'd promised that they would be okay, nothing would happen and like always he fucked up. everything's his fault and now they're losing their chance to play just because of some stupid broken arm.

"patster there's no need to stop this tour just because of me. how about you guys just find someone who can fill in for me, it's not like i'm that good anyway." pete forced a smile and tried to keep his voice light for the younger boy, "you and joe and andy, you guys are the stars, and i know that if you don't play you're going to regret it."

patrick looked - odd. pete had expected a look of gratitude or maybe even sadness, but this, the look of anger on patrick's face was almost terrifying.

"pete do you really think so little of yourself," patrick spat, "we need you out on that stage with us, hell, i need you, so stop being so goddamn negative and blaming yourself. we either all play together or don't play at all."

pete had moved farther away from patrick during the midst of his angry rant. he looked down at his shaking hands and once again cursed his own mind for always making people mad and for screwing up. but he pushed his self-deprecating thoughts down and exchanged them for venomous words.

"oh yeah i forgot, weak little trick needs me to help him on stage," pete sneered, the bullets shooting out of his mouth hitting the younger boy with deadly accuracy, "you're not even capable of singing without hiding behind me on stage."

patrick's face reddened in anger, his mouth curling with insults that pete longed for and lived for,"oh you think you're so high and mighty, like you alone are fall out boy. well sometimes pete, there exists more than just you and your agenda. so grow the fuck up and stop pretending you're the only person who matters."

the blonde boy got up and started to leave the room not even realizing the hypocrisy of his own words.

"joe or andy will come pick you up in a few hours, asshole." patrick muttered before slamming the hospital door shut behind him, leaving pete by himself.

pete stared up at the ceiling, mind replaying the events of the last 24 hours. yes there was the crash and the injuries, the chaos and the worry. but mostly there was patrick, his soft lips and angry insults, poorly concealed tears and relief when he realized pete was awake. he was an enigma to pete, every emotion could change so quickly, barely there before the next one came barreling in. pete just wanted to know what was real and what wasn't, just wanted to figure out if patrick had made the mistake of actually caring for someone as fucked up as pete.

these thoughts spiraled, all just swirls of ocean-green eyes and golden words in a sea of grey. pete shut his eyes and tried to draw in deep breaths and concentrate on the whir of the machines around him and the constant, dulled pain of his arm and back. everything seemed stale and pete just wanted to feel real again, not just some empty shell. he remember the gleam of an orange bottle in a black bag.

he wished he knew where that bag was. it was times like these that he would slide one, two, three pills down his throat to quiet the constant roar of his own head.

so all pete could do was lay there, alone and sober on hopeless hospital sheets, all the while he prayed for pills. hands shaking and thoughts attacking, seeping into his bones, he wished for the relief, the reassurance of small white capsules on his tongue and down his throat.


	3. numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pete gets out of the hospital, also check the tags for this story because there are some triggers in this section.

sometimes he would grab hold of something that would combat the chaos constantly swimming in his head.

this could range from pills to music, from sex to friends. it was anything that made him feel like an actually human being, someone whole and real. these things made him feel grounded.

he knew it wasn't typical, grasping for something to keep him here, to keep his sanity. but it couldn't be that bad, he was still here right? he was still okay, breathing and taking up space. so it was all good.

he just needed help sometimes, everyone needed help. it was just one more pill, just one more time playing the bass until he couldn't, just one more anonymous fuck which made him feel like a human being. 

so it was okay, to live in the moments of he briefly grasped. he lived in stolen times, times where he thought, maybe, he wasn't a failure.

most times, life wasn't lived in those moments though. most times pete felt like a passenger, not really quite in charge, overreacting to things going on around him, but not quite consciously.

but as always he lived with it, lived because of it. because if he wasn't numb, what was he.

///

pete needed something to make him real.

he laid on starch hospital sheets, counting. the seconds, minutes, hours blended together and became drowned out by his own blur of thoughts. where was andy? where was joe? where was patrick? pete didn't know these basic things anymore.

time moved leisurely, sometimes slipping by like sand down an hourglass and other times coming to a complete halt. he didn't quite comprehend its passage anymore, it wasn't worth it to decipher.

so when he heard the squeak of shoes on linoleum flooring and the rattle of the room's door handle, pete didn't quite know what to make of it. dream or reality? he took a close look around and upon seeing his two friends' faces decided that everything was real, for the most part.

"hey joe, hey andy, fancy seeing you here," pete joked, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"we've come to retrieve the royal prince wentz the third," joe dramatically proclaimed, "his distraught wife waits patiently back in the castle for his safe return."

pete mustered up the strength to punch joe's bicep, which was pretty damn hard for someone with a broken arm, while andy just rolled his eyes at the pair.

"let's just get back the hotel room and then we can bicker all we like," andy scolded the two other boys.

"yeah actually i agree with andy, i don't like hospitals, they give me the creeps," joe stood and stretched out, throwing a small orange bottle towards pete. 

"pain meds," he gave as an explanation.

in a moment of unspoken agreement, the trio all got up and headed through the winding halls to reach the waiting room, where they checked pete out and got instructions on his cast and stitches.

pete was zoned out, mostly thinking about getting back the the motel bathroom and downing three, four, five pills and then letting them do their job, numbing his hyperactivity and making him a better person. someone who could react normally.

"–we won't let anything else happen to him," pete caught the end of joe's conversation with the nurse, who was trying to give him instructions on dealing with pete's banadages.

pete hated the feeling of embarrassment and shame that flooded him. he hated being coddled like this. he didn't think he needed any caretakers, but deep-down he knew he did and that without people looking out for him he'd be six feet under. still it hurt to have to always be a burden, a weight on the shoulders of his closest friends. 

andy, joe, and the nurse finally finished with the detailed conversation on how to deal with pete, which meant they were free to go. they pushed open the hospital doors and pete took a breath of fresh air. he was so glad to be out of that place, hosipitals reminded him of some of the lowest times of his life. they always made him feel like a zoo animal, something caged and poked at for amusement.

the mood had changed once they got in the car but pete didn't even process the tension-filled silence. the other occupants of the shitty rental car were worried about him, but he was too caught up in his self-deprecating, anxious train of thought. he was pulled out of it by an obviously faked cough from joe, as well as a concerned glance from andy.

"hey, man, uh are you okay?" joe meekly glanced over at the dark-haired man.

"yeah i'm doing wonderfully, just narrowly survived a car crash, broke my arm, and had to get stitches. also i'm being told we have to stop the tour," pete let out a sarcastic snort and hoped his shitty attempt at humor would stop any further questioning about his well-being.

"hey don't worry about the band, we're just glad your alright," andy genuinely sounded like he cared, but pete knew better than to trust people's words and emotions. he'd been fucked over too many times before by concerned gestures.

"thanks," was all he managed to stutter out, not quite believing any kind words.

the awkward silence hung in the car as they continued driving towards their shitty motel room, but no one seemed brave enough to break it. as soon as they arrived they all quietly unbuckled seatbelts and slid out of the car.

sometime later pete found himself in a motel bathroom. his thoughts were rushed, overpowered whispers racing and mingling, like a parade inside his head. he thought of the irony of his troubled thoughts and matching self-esteem but didn't want to dwell on it as he turned on the shower.

he had told the guys to go get dinner without him, but they had refused. he was so tired of being coddled by them, he was fine thank you very much, but he couldn't seem to convince them to leave. so here was the alternate. turning on the shower to hide his intentions. 

he started by unzipping the bag, pulling out the orange bottles inside. he set them on the counter in the small bathroom, but before he opened any of them he knelt down by the toilet and emptied the contents of his stomach. he felt cleaner, lighter, more real.

he then opened the orange containers and picked out his poison. today he decided on two ambien, three xanax, and just a few ativans, just to mix it up. he desperately wanted the dreamless, empty sleep he hadn't gotten in what felt like months, and he needed something to combat the constant shaking he could feel deep in his bones. so he cupped his hands in a hotel facet and downed his concoction. 

then as if nothing had happened, he stepped into the steaming, too-hot water cascading down from the shower head and scrubbed himself raw. getting rid of the thoughts in his head, the smell of antiseptic and sadness, and the feel of patrick on his lips. he still felt dirty as he stepped out and saw his pink flushed skin in the grimy mirror, he still felt so trapped.

he knew the pills would kick in soon though so he quickly threw on a hoodie and sweats, and made his way out into the room with the rest of the guys.

they all shot him looks of concern but pete focused on ignoring them, on acting normal.

he made a few easy jokes that would keep the guys at ease, and then mentally checked out of the conversation, crawling into one of the tiny beds the room held.

"hey guys i'm pretty worn out so i think i'm just going to get some sleep," pete yawned.

"yeah the rest of us are tired too, it's been a crazy 24-hours," patrick yawned, crawling into bed with pete.

that was their ritual. if they had the luxury of a room for the night, it was always andy and joe in one bed and pete and patrick in the other. a sorta unwritten rule they had, and it didn't seem like things were changing anytime soon. 

maybe patrick doesn't remember, pete thought to himself, but that thought was quickly lost in the pleasant buzz of pills quieting his normally loud mind. pete just rolled over the threw an arm around the golden boy, causing patrick to wiggle and protest.

"g'night patster," pete managed to mumble, previous thoughts fading away, leaving him only with the muted happiness of the moment.

patrick stopped moving at the sound of pete's voice and relaxed under his grip, "g'night, pete" he said through a mouthful of pillow.

pete stayed there, listening to the sounds of patrick, joe, and andy's breathing even out.

he liked the happy numbness buzzing in his veins, but he truly appreciated the warmth of patrick pressed against his side.

time lost it's meaning as the lines between consciousness and unconsciousness blurred, and pete was overcome with sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for sticking through to the end of this mess! i hope to update sorta regularly but idk if that'll happen. i apologize for the horrific grammar and i would ask if you'd please leave an suggestions or questions down in the comments!! thanks!


End file.
